


things we're all too young to know

by wordbending



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Aged-Up Character(s), Implied Past Incest, Multi, Other, Past Child Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rape Recovery, Sex-Repulsed Chara
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:01:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28435803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordbending/pseuds/wordbending
Summary: It's Frisk's eighteenth birthday, and you couldn't be happier to spend it with your more-than-best-friends, your husband, your future partner. You and Asriel had done everything you could to make them happy - you watched a cheesy American romance film at a run-down old theater, got horrible cheap udon noodles from a stand that you hated but you knew Frisk loved, and did the entire thing dressed to the nines and then somebecauseit made you all look ridiculous.But then you get to your apartment, and Frisk wants to take your relationship a step further, and you know why the thought of that terrifies you more than anything.But don't you owe them everything? Don't you even owe themthis?
Relationships: Chara/Asriel Dreemurr/Frisk
Comments: 4
Kudos: 25





	things we're all too young to know

**Author's Note:**

> **Trigger warning** : this is a fic about Chara being sex-repulsed as a result of violent rape and past child sexual abuse (including implied incest), and Frisk also having suffered CSA. It is not explicit in portraying the past abuse but it comes very close, and it portrays sexual relationships, trauma, and PTSD. Please, please mind the tags and this warning and do not read this fic if this content upsets or triggers you. Thank you.
> 
> Title from "The Book of Love" by the Magnetic Fields.

It’s you, Frisk, and Asriel’s first date after Frisk’s eighteenth birthday, and none of you could be happier. It had been all about them, so you and Asriel had done everything you could to make them happy - you watched a cheesy American romance film at a run-down old theater, got horrible cheap udon noodles from a stand that you hated but you knew Frisk loved, and did the entire thing dressed to the nines and then some _because_ it made you all look ridiculous. It was so very, very them, and you could practically feel them glowing in all the attention you and Asriel were giving them, and how could you not be happy, sharing this moment with your two closest more-than-friends?

The problem is when you get home. Frisk asks for a kiss, and when you oblige by giving them a quick peck on the lips as you usually do, they grab you by the lapels of your vest and kiss you _hard._ They pressed their body close to yours and held your waist, tilting their head to kiss you deeper, and even before they did the same thing to Asriel, you could tell that there was something different going on with them.

Once they stop kissing Asriel, they look between the both of you with a smile that betrays their devilish intentions and reach out to hold both you and Asriel’s hands.

“Frisk,” Asriel said, swallowing. “Are you... are you sure?”

Frisk squeezes both your hands, and you reach out with your other one and take Asriel’s, so that the three of you form a triangle. You look anxiously between Frisk and Asriel, feeling a pit of dread in your stomach that you try your best to ignore.

“I love you,” Frisk says, because they can’t sign with both their hands occupied. “I want this. I want _you._ Both of you. _”_

Asriel looks nervous, but it’s nothing compared to the anxiety that grips your heart at those words.

“Is that... is that OK?” Frisk asks, sounding uncharacteristically nervous themselves. “We don’t have to.”

Asriel smiles down at them. “I _do_ want that. More than anything.”

Frisk smiles, a smile that should have made you happy to see on their face but instead just breaks your heart, before they turn to you and say, “What about you, Chara?”

You smile back, although it feels completely plastered on. “Of course, Frisk.”

And you let Frisk unlock the door and lead the way into your shared bedroom, your heart pounding like a drum every second.

* * *

Somehow, like it always is with the three of you, you became the center of attention. It’s no surprise, seeing as Asriel loves you and Frisk loves you (and vice versa) far more than Frisk or Asriel love each other. You should have known it would happen.

And yet, as Frisk’s hand slowly traces its way up your stomach and towards your bare chest, your shirt and your binder already off, you feel sick. They’re planting kisses all along your pale neck and shoulders, some quick and sharp, some long enough to leave little marks on your skin. Asriel’s paw is on your upper thigh, equally bare except for your panties, and his breathing is already heavy, which normally you’d find adorable but it just reminds you that he’s _aroused_ and... and...

Some of the terror you’re feeling (and that’s what it is, not anxiety but _terror)_ must show on your face, because Frisk’s hand lowers and they whisper, in the voice they so rarely use, “Is this OK?”

You can’t find your voice, but you manage to nod rapidly, because you want this, don’t you? It’s not like... before. It’s your friends, your best friends, your future partner, your present husband. You want this. You want this. You _have to_ want this, because you can’t let them down, can you? You can’t let your stupid, fucked-up brain and all its stupid problems keep them from enjoying themselves. You owe this to them. You owe them _everything._

Even this.

“Your heart’s beating really fast,” Frisk says, and they’re right. You can feel your pulse against their hand on your stomach, like a butterfly trapped in a spider’s web. “Are you sure?”

You stare at their face, which is so much easier than acknowledging that they’re even more naked than you are. Somehow, despite the fact that their eyes are barely open, you can feel their stare gazing into you.

“I’m sure,” you say firmly. “I want this. I want you to...” You swallow. “To touch me.”

So why, then, do those very words make you feel so sick?

“Chara,” says Asriel, his voice only slightly less quiet than Frisk’s. It’s husky, tinged with want, and you know he must be struggling to speak. “Something’s wrong. I can tell. Please, it’s OK. You can talk to us.”

You swallow again, reflexively, trying to keep yourself from crying. This is all wrong. This isn’t how it’s supposed to go. They’re supposed to “make love” to you, as much as you hate that stupid euphemism, and you’re supposed to enjoy every minute of it until you achieve the bliss of an orgasm, and it’ll be so much _better_ because it’s with the people you love, and...

“I _want this,”_ you insist, again, because you have to tell yourself that. Out of desperation to take control of this situation back, you turn to him, take his cheek in your hand, and lean forward to kiss him. He freezes for a moment, but then he starts to kiss you back, and you feel his paw slide up your thigh, closer and closer.

Frisk seems to accept that, because their hands once again travel up your stomach. Again, you feel them as they get closer and closer, and the more they rise, the more you feel bile rising in your throat.

 _I want this,_ you tell yourself, as if repeating it will make it true. _I want this. I want this._

So why are you breathing so hard? Why are you sweating as if you’re being chased? Why are you so _afraid?_

It’s not like before. It’s not like before. It’s not like before.

You keep kissing Asriel, spreading your legs for him, and Frisk’s hand climbs higher, and then he’s touching you, and they’re touching you, and then your mind blanks and it’s not Asriel anymore, it’s not Frisk anymore. It’s every nightmare you’ve ever had, it’s a hundred hands all over your body, it’s hands upon hands and hands, touching you everywhere, forcing you to the ground, pinning you against the wall, pulling at your hair, kicking you in the stomach, telling you you’re things you’re not, making you choke and gag and _hurt..._

You were so small. You were _so small._

You freeze like a cornered animal. You want to scream. You want to run. You want to throw up. But your body betrays you - you can’t move at all, not even to flinch. The only thing that happens is that you let out a tiny, frightened moan, practically a whimper.

Frisk stops, instantly pulling their hand away. Asriel does too. It brings you no relief.

“I... I can’t, I can’t,” you cry out, and you know exactly what you’re referring to but at the same time, you can’t do _anything,_ you can’t even _breathe._ You don’t know whether to clutch at your hair or scratch at your arms or curl into a ball, so you do nothing. “I can’t do this, I’m sorry, I can’t...”

“Asriel, get them some water and a bucket,” Frisk commands, and you don’t think you’ve ever heard them so authoritative. But, as Asriel rushes off, still completely naked, Frisk is nothing but gentle with you. They don’t touch you again, because somehow, they know that the slightest touch will set you off, but they do take a spare blanket from the end of the bed and wrap it around your shoulders, so that you can focus on the warmth, the feel of the cotton on your exposed skin.

You hug it tightly to yourself, rock back and forth, and try not to cry. You refuse to cry. Not over this. If you start crying, that means they’ve _won_ \- everyone who has ever hurt you, everyone who has ever made you suffer.

“I’m sorry,” you repeat, once your heart’s slowed down enough to speak again. You don’t look their direction when you say it, because they’re still naked and their nudity is a reminder of what you were about to be doing until your worthless brain ruined it for everyone. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Frisk says softly. “There’s nothing to say sorry for.”

You nod, even though you don’t agree, because you can’t think of anything else to say.

Asriel returns, and for the same reason as Frisk, you try not to look at him either. He sets the bucket down in front of you, hands the glass of water to Frisk, and sits on the other side of you, on his knees.

“Do you need to throw up?” he asks, his voice gentle, clearly trying not to push. Normally, you’d hate it, the way they’re both treating you like a fragile doll, but right now, you’re grateful.

But something about him saying that must have triggered something within you, because before you can even shake your head, you feel the bile rising up your throat. You retch, lean over the bucket, and expel the contents of your stomach into it. Then you do it again, and almost do it a third time only to find that you have nothing left to throw up.

By the time you’re done, your eyes are wet with tears, and snot is running down your nose. You feel even more disgusting than you did already.

Frisk hands you a handkerchief they procured from... somewhere, and you use it to wipe up your face. Then they hand you the water, which you gulp down like a starving animal, even though you know drinking too fast will just make you want to throw it up again.

For a long moment, the three of you just sit there, silent.

“We should put our clothes back on,” Asriel suggests, rather awkwardly.

In response to that, you just laugh and tighten your grip on the blankets.

“I ruined _everything!_ Just say it! _”_ you exclaim. “This was supposed to be... this was supposed to be our _one_ nice, normal night, and I, I _ruined it_ for _both of you_ , because I’m a... a fucking _freak_ who can’t even do the _one thing_ humans are _fucking_ _obsessed with...!”_

Asriel frowns, his ears drooping like an oversized puppy, and right now, you could almost punch him.

“I didn’t...” he starts to say.

“You didn’t ruin anything,” Frisk intercepts. “I should be sorry. I pushed you into this. It’s all my fault.”

“How were you supposed to know?” you retort. “How were you supposed to know that I was...” Your voice loses all the bite that it had. “That I was...”

The word feels too difficult to say, and you almost want them to pull it out of you, to question you, to interrogate you until everything spills over.

“Chara,” Asriel says, and you can tell by the edge of fear in his voice that he doesn’t want you to say whatever you’re about to say next. “It’s OK. You don’t have to talk about it.”

“You don’t have to tell us anything,” Frisk says.

But you ignore them, and spit out the word with all the venom you can.

“ _Raped.”_

At that word, Frisk doesn’t react, but Asriel looks sick. You know that, even without asking, they both know _when_ this happened to you - before you ever climbed Mt. Ebott. Before you gave up on living.

You were so small.

But they can’t imagine what it was like. They can’t imagine it at all - not the scale, not the terror, not the way it twisted your entire body inside-out for the rest of your life, made you disgusted to even look at yourself. They can’t imagine that, every single time, you wanted them to kill you, because you knew living would be _worse._ They can’t imagine that people didn’t even do it for the pleasure of it, but just because, and only because, they hated you, and it was just one more way to terrorize you and torture you until you finally killed yourself.

You feel a shift on the mattress, and then, extremely gently, Frisk takes one of your hands.

“Me too.”

“What?” you say, dumbly, so quietly it’s almost a whisper.

“I was too.”

You stare at them, as if to see that they’re serious, and the way they’re smiling a vanishingly soft smile tells you everything. It’s the fact that Frisk is smiling at all - you know immediately, because you know them better than any other human possibly could, that it’s not a remotely happy smile. It’s the smile of someone trying to comfort you as much as themselves but not knowing how.

You don’t know what to say. You want to demand they tell you immediately who would hurt them in that way, and if they did tell you, you’d find them, you’d kill them, just like you’d stabbed your brother with a pair of scissors while he was watching TV.

“Frisk...” you hear Asriel’s voice whisper, and it’s a voice on the verge of tears, filled with undirected horror and disgust. It makes you feel even worse, and you can’t imagine it does anything better for Frisk, because how could it? But how can you blame Asriel, who until you came along, had no idea of the true horrors of the world? Who can blame Asriel, who even without a scrap of a soul, never imagined doing anything so depraved, so cruel, to another person?

“It’s alright,” Frisk says. “It was a long time ago.”

“It’s not alright,” you say back, firmly. “You don’t have to lie.”

“Ch...” Asriel sniffles, and you can immediately tell he’s crying. “Chara’s right. You don’t have to pretend.”

“I’m not pretending,” Frisk says simply, and it almost makes you angry, even though you know that’s not the right way to respond. “But this isn’t about me. It’s about Chara.”

You open your mouth to insist that, for once, for once in their life, Frisk would make something about themselves rather than opening their heart and soul to another person for the sake of helping them, no matter what it cost themselves. Frisk is still smiling that vanishingly small smile, and you know they’re in as much pain as you are, and you don’t understand why they wanted to do this in the first place if it hurts them the same way it hurts you.

And then you realize why those two things are related. What had you thought earlier? “You owe them everything, even this”? Maybe they just took that thought process to its logical extreme. Or maybe this was something beyond your understanding.

You go silent and wrap the blanket tighter around yourself.

“There’s nothing either of you can do for me,” you say flatly, staring down at the mattress and trying not to notice how undressed you are.

There’s a shuffle of bedsheets and a weight moving on the mattress as Asriel approaches you from the side opposite Frisk. Without hesitation, he takes your bare, pale hand in his paw and squeezes it, just like when the both of you were children.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Chara,” he says.

Frisk takes your other hand, and smiles, and it’s so much more sincere it almost makes your heart break again.

“We can’t... undo the past,” Asriel says gently. “We can’t take back the ways we’ve been hurt, or the ways we’ve hurt other people. Frisk and I know that better than anyone.”

You look towards him and stare at him. He’s smiling, and his eyes are filled with tears, and he’s never looked before as much like he does both his parents right now.

“But we can be there for each other,” Frisk continues for him, all the while quietly tracing the lines on your palm with their hand. “We can support each other.”

“We can’t undo the past, but together, we can face it. We can become stronger together.”

“We don’t gain LOVE, but we gain love.”

You look back and forth between them, Frisk smiling warmly, Asriel almost glowing even in the cheap lighting of your apartment.

You feel tears start to flow down your cheeks.

“You... you two... I swear...” You shake your head. “That you two are the sappiest motherfuckers.”

Asriel looks startled, but Frisk laughs, and you grin at both of them and Asriel laughs too.

“You can’t fix this,” you say, quietly, after a moment. “I’ll never want what you two want. Ever. And I’m sorry. I just can’t.”

“Don’t apologize,” Asriel replies.

“I’m sorry,” Frisk says. “I should have realized sooner.”

“Don’t apologize either, Frisk,” Asriel says softly. “You didn’t know.”

“He’s right,” you say, turning your palm around to squeeze Frisk’s hand. “Don’t blame yourself.”

You look at Frisk, their expression serious.

“Promise you won’t blame yourself either, Chara,” they say.

“I’ll try.”

Frisk nods. You suppose that’s good enough, for now, even though you know Frisk is stubborn enough that they’ll help guide you through your self-hatred kicking and screaming.

“We should go to bed,” Asriel suggests. “I think it’d help, if we just... slept together, tonight. Like we always do.”

You smile softly at him. “That’s a good idea. Thank you.”

“I’ll get our pajamas,” Frisk says, by means of agreement, and you turn your gaze away as they uncurl themselves from their position and hop off the bed.

* * *

That night, as the three of you lay in the most adorable pajamas Frisk could find, you stare at the ceiling. Frisk is nuzzled up to you like a squirrel, their cheek pressed against your cheek, their body spooning yours. Asriel has you in practically a bear hug and is snoring like he hasn’t slept in years.

You refuse to even try to sleep. You know, if you do, the nightmares will come back - of everyone who found every way they could to hate you, and every way they could to hurt you for it.

But being here, between Frisk and Asriel, is more comforting than any blanket. It doesn’t make the nightmares go away, and it never will, any more than there’ll ever be a day where you’ll be able to do the things you tried to do today. But it makes them a little quieter, a little further away.

And isn’t that, after all, what love is?

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to my lovely girlfriend Willow for giving me the support I needed to finish and publish this.


End file.
